


She Won't Break

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bruises, Comfort, F/F, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Other, Rowena Gets A Hug, Rowena Needs A Hug, Rowena Whump, Taking Care of Rowena, Torture, Whump, Wounds, sam and dean to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: Reader cares for Rowena after Ketch tortures her.





	She Won't Break

Arthur Ketch wasn’t a patient man.

Rowena found that out firsthand after he’d attempted to kill her, three times in a row, and each time she’d come back completely healed as if nothing had ever happened.

The Man of Letters was getting desperate. He was used to getting what he wanted, and a tiny witch like her refusing to die was driving him insane.

More insane than he already was.

Beatings were nothing new for Rowena; she’d been through plenty in her long life, each time getting out stronger, more resistant. Not even her son’s demons had managed to break her.

But what this man did to her was like nothing she’d ever experienced. By the time he grew tired of beating on her, there wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t either bleeding or covered in nasty bruises that would take weeks to heal.

“Why won’t you die?!” he snarled.

If she wasn’t in so much pain, Rowena would have laughed at how completely and utterly helpless he seemed. She was the one strapped to a table and mercilessly beaten, yet it was him who screamed in mad frustration. She was the monster in this story, a proud and glorious wicked witch, but it was his angry, red face that looked more beast rather than human.

He could do to her whatever he wanted; Rowena had made up her mind long before she even knew of his existence. No matter how much he (or anyone else for that matter) pounded on her, she would never tell him her secret.

The only one who knew about it, besides Lucifer (who was far, far away by now) and Amara (who wasn’t even around to tell anyone) was you. The Winchesters, their angel, and her son knew that she’d come back somehow, but she hadn’t told them exactly how. She would be crazy to tell people who had tried to kill her multiple times the way to do it permanently.

“TELL ME!” Ketch snarled, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head up.

Rowena hissed in pain, and then swallowed it. He didn’t deserve to see her weak. She could get through this. She would get free, either by her own hand or yours, and he would pay for everything he’s done to her. But for that to happen, she needed to be strong. Which was a difficult task considering every inch of her ached, but she could do it – she _knew_ she could. She hasn’t survived for over three centuries for nothing.

“Rot in hell.”

Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but she managed to get her point across. She wasn’t telling him shit!

Ketch’s response was a well aimed punch to the face that sent her head spinning.

“Smart creatures, you witches are,” he mused. “But I’m smarter.”

She seriously doubted that. This man may have known his theory, but in practice he was a nobody. Books, while immensely important (Rowena didn’t love them without reason) could only get you so far.

Say what you want about American hunters, but they at least knew how to do their job. Rowena respected that. She hated them with a passion, but she respected their dedication. Unlike these fancy bampots, they combined theory with practice learned from experience.

“I’ve studied your kind for decades and I know the answer to my question lies somewhere here.”

Ketch trailed a finger down her neck, all the way to her chest. Rowena flinched as he pressed on a rather painful bruise.

“Somewhere on your person,” he continued, finger trailing lower.

Rowena put on her best stoic look, but on the inside she was screaming. While she managed to keep her breathing under control, her heartbeat fastened, uneven little thuds pounding on her chest.

 _No,_ she thought. _Please, no._ What he already did to her would be nothing compared to what he would if he was to find the Resurrection Seal. She could handle beatings just fine; his attempt at the Seal’s removal (bloody and painful in all scenarios that went through her head) she could not.

Just as she feared, it didn’t take Ketch long to find the scar just above her knee on her right leg.

“And we have a winner!” He grinned like a child at a supermarket, pressing into the scar and feeling the small casket nestled underneath her skin. “It’s a bit deep, but not to worry. I’ve got just the right tool!”

He walked over to the table where he kept his instruments and picked up a large, sharp-looking knife.

Rowena eyes went wide, heart beating even faster as the Man of Letters approached her again and started observing and pressing back into her scar in search of the right angle to cut.

“Don’t,” she said, hating herself for sinking so low as to beg – again. “Please.”

“Sorry, darling, but it must be done. It’s nothing personal.”

With that he sank the blade deep into her flesh.

The only thing Rowena could do as blood poured out in streams was scream at the top of her lungs.

* * *

You expected it would take some time to convince them (and had prepared a ranting speech accordingly), but, surprisingly, Sam and Dean readily agreed to help you rescue Rowena.

They were quick to answer the phone and, after having listened to your hysterical and damn near impossible to understand (for you were a sobbing mess and your voice was breaking after every word) explanation, said they were on their way.

You offered – demanded, actually – to go with them, but they insisted you would be safer in your apartment. The only reason you agreed to listen to them was because they promised they would bring Rowena back home.

You noticed that they never promised they’d bring her back unharmed.

That alone was enough to send you into another frenzy of emotions.

It was about an hour after you made that phone call that Dean texted to inform you Rowena was safe. Your tears had dried by now; you were still shaken, but you’d managed to calm yourself down enough to function. The elder Winchester had said nothing about Rowena’s condition, but knowing the British Men of Letters – and especially that monster going by the name of Arthur Ketch – you fetched your healing salve and pain-relieving potion, as well as bandages, a cloth, and a bowl of water, and brought them to your small living room.

Just as you were finished setting all the supplies onto the coffee table, the doorbell rang, signaling their arrival.

“We come bearing gifts,” Dean said with a huge grin on his face when you opened the door.

In his arms was Rowena, huddled up against him like a broken doll. You froze, eyes widening in shock as you took in her appearance. She was covered in blood from head to toe, her expensive dress tattered and ripped, exposing bruised skin that was more purple than pale.

You clasped your hands over your mouth, staring at her as if she were a ghost – which, judging from her condition, wasn’t that far from the truth.

It baffled you how calm she appeared. If that were you, you would be screaming for the entire town to hear.

A gasp escaped your lips, followed by a loud, concerned exclamation of: “Oh, my god!”

“Y/N…”

Rowena’s voice was weak, but the message in it was clear – don’t worry. Even beaten to a bloody pulp, she was adamant that she was fine. She could take everything that was thrown at her; every insult, every blow. It hurt, yes, but her pride remained the same. She was a woman of great dignity, incredibly strong and brave. That kind of thing doesn’t vanish overnight – she, after all, had centuries to build it.

As you lead Dean to your living room, you reached to touch her, but pulled your hand back at the last minute, frightened that you would harm her. You didn’t miss the look of hurt that crossed her face at your rejection, and before you knew it, guilt had its hand around your worried heart, digging its sharp claws in. What must she have thought, you wondered, when, after hours of torture, her own girlfriend refused to touch her, as if she were filthy?

You made sure to make up for it after getting Dean to sit her on the couch. You didn’t even sit down properly before pulling her into your arms and wrapping your arms around her. You waited for her to push you back, to give out a pained moan and chastise you for hurting her, but when no protests came, you tightened your grip on her.

For a long, silent moment you just held onto her protectively, as if letting go would put her in danger all over again. She returned the favor, not as strong, but her arms still rested on your back. It felt good to feel her skin against yours once again; to have her in your arms, to hear her soft breaths. You wanted to stay that way forever – just the two of you, safe in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” you said, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. You didn’t care that the Winchesters were here, that they could see you at your weakest. All you cared about was her. She needed to know that she was loved, that she was wanted and needed and cared for. That you would never think her filthy and find her undesirable. “I’m so, so sorry, baby. I love you so much.”

“I know, darlin’,” she said softly. “Love ye, too.”

Your heart broke at the weakness in her voice. Your Rowena was not supposed to be so weak. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” she replied. “This feels good.”

“Happy to hear that,” you told her, pulling her closer to you. You wanted to have her as close as possible. Your eyes trailed over to Sam and Dean for a moment, locking with their sympathetic ones. “Thank you for bringing her home to me. I owe you for this. Big time.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said.

“You don’t owe us anything,” Dean added. “She was in need. We helped. It’s what we do.”

“Yeah,” his brother agreed. “She’s already helped us twice. We’re the ones owing her.”

“Besides, we’re friends, Y/N,” the elder Winchester said.

You nodded, tears of gratitude streaming down your face. Even though they weren’t happy when they found out you were leaving hunting for witchcraft, and to date Rowena, no less, Sam and Dean had come to terms with it and didn’t let it impair your friendship. There were plenty of things the three of you disagreed with, but you still cared for one another and would never do anything that would cause the others harm.

“Thank you,” you repeated. “I’ll never forget what you did for us today.”

Sam nodded. “It wasn’t a problem at all.”

“And for the record, the two of ye _still_ owe me,” Rowena said.

Dean smirked. “Of course we do.”

“Yeah, we-we know,” Sam said.

Rowena smiled. “Just wanted to make that clear.”

“We can let ourselves out,” Dean said when you made a move to get up, stopping you dead in your tracks.

You nodded gratefully. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“Take care,” Sam said, giving you a small smile.

You waited for the door behind them to close before turning back to Rowena. You laid a finger to her chin, gently tilting her head up to observe her. Her beautiful face bore blood and bruises you’d never before seen on it. You’d/ seen her beaten up a few times, but never like this. It has never been this bad. ****

Your eyes teared up once again at the sight of her. It amazed you how strong she appeared, considering the injuries her body bore. A tiny creature such as her should never be this hurt. It was unnatural and cruel.

“What did he do to you?” you said, a single tear sliding down your cheek.

Rowena was quick to wipe it away with the back of her hand. “Don’t cry, dear. This is nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to handle it,” you pointed out. “It isn’t fair.”

She smiled lightly. “Life isn’t fair.” Her smile faded as she uttered her next words. “He killed me. Three times.”

You frowned, doing your best to ignore the throbbing pain the words _‘he killed me’_ inflicted on your heart. She was alive now – alive and kicking, as strong as ever despite her numerous injuries. The past didn’t matter. The only thing that _did_ matter was that she was here with you and she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“Ketch did?”

“Aye. The fourth time he found the Seal. Tried to get it out.”

Your eyes instinctively trailed down to her leg, its upper side wrapped in a makeshift bandage consisting of a plaid cloth (one of Sam or Dean’s old shirts, most likely).

“Get it out how?” you asked, eyes narrowing. You weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

Rowena hesitated before replying. “With a knife.”

“Oh, god!”

Her strength never ceased to amaze you. If you were in her shoes, you’d have been an incomprehensible mess of sobs and screams. Instead, she was sitting beside you, giving no sign that he was in pain – the only thing that gave her away were the horrid wounds that covered the entirety of her body and the slight weakness in her voice.

“The Seal’s still there,” Rowena assured you, taking your hand into both of hers. “The Winchesters arrived before he could take it out.”

“He still hurt you,” you said through gritted teeth, seething with anger. How dare that pompous little man lay a hand on your girl? “He hurt you bad.”

She gave you a smile. “I’m alright, dear.”

“You’re not and you know it,” you said, a tad too harshly for your liking. You couldn’t help it; anger and concern made for a dangerous mixture. “You look awful. I don’t mean that as an insult, but as a fact.”

“Way to lift my spirits.” Her face fell. “But aye, I’m aware. It hurts even worse. Ye can’t even imagine.”

You knew it the moment you laid your eyes on her broken form, but hearing her say those words broke your heart into thousands of pieces. “I will make it go away,” you said, swallowing back the sobs that threatened to overcome you. “Not completely, but I promise you, I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt as bad.”

“I trust ye will do yer best,” she said. “Like always.”

Your best you did.

The first thing you did was run her a warm bath to wash away all the filth and caked blood. You insisted you take care of her injuries first, but Rowena was adamant that she wanted to be clean before any work was done.

So, after giving her a pain-relieving potion, you did what she asked. She let you wash her, let you scrub away the gore with minimal protest. You could tell she was holding back from screaming for the pain that she was in was immense, but every time you suggested you stop what you were doing, she very loudly and very clearly ordered you to keep going until she was clean.

The first wound you took care of was the leg one. It hurt you to even look at that mess; you didn’t even want to imagine what it must have been like to bear am injury like that. You weren’t certain whether it was the potion or Rowena’s natural resilience (probably a little bit of both), but she let you clean and bandage it without making much of a fuss.

After that one, the rest was relatively easy. The bruises and welts you could do nothing about except leave them to heal on their own – which would take a while, considering she was covered in them from head to toe – but the cuts were relatively easy to stitch.

Time flew by fast and before you knew it it was evening. Rowena cuddled up to you on the bed, allowing you to hold her like a child in need of comfort. Her head rested atop your chest, her hands holding onto yours.

It was relaxing to just hold her like that. No drama, no worries – just two witches in love enjoying their peace and quiet after an incredibly long, tormenting day.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, moving one of your hands up to caress her hair. The curly locks were soft under your touch, like refined, gentle silk.

“Much better,” Rowena said.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. Ye were sweet. Ye _are_ sweet.” Her lips curled into a smile. “Ye can hold me, Y/N. I’m not goin' to break.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Ye won’t.” Letting out a pained hiss, she pushed herself up into a sitting position and turned to look you in the eye. “I’m grateful to have ye, Y/N. I don’t know what I would’ve done without ye.”

“You’d probably be sleeping in some cheap hotel,” you teased.

“Cheap?” She actually looked offended. “How dare ye?”

You smirked. “I’m mean.”

“Ye are,” she agreed. “Very mean.”

“You should lie down,” you told her. “The potion may have numbed your pain, but you’re still hurt.”

“I’m not a child, Y/N. I know my limits and I’m tellin’ you I’m alright. Don’t worry.”

“After today, how can I not?”

“Oh, darlin’,” she said, lowering her head to press a kiss to your lips. “A wee beatin’ can’t stop a wicked witch like me. These bruises are nothin’ I haven’t experienced before. I’ll be as good as new in no time.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier to look at you,” you said. “It hurts me to see you like this. I wish I could do something to help, but I can’t, and it sucks. I hate this.”

“Ye’ve already done more than I could ever ask for,” Rowena told you. “Ye took care of me, nursed me back to health. That’s not somethin’ I take for granted. I’m fine. I swear. I’m not denyin’ that it hurts, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it looks.” She gave your cheek a light caress. “How about this? If anythin’ – _anythin’_ – starts hurtin’, I’ll let you know.”

“You promise?”

“Aye.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding. You were still unsure about the entire thing, but you decided to trust her. You owed her that much. “I won’t walk on eggshells around you, but only if you’re honest with me.”

“It’s a deal.”

“Let’s make it official,” you told her, grinning devilishly. “Kiss me.”

“With pleasure,” she purred, and for a moment, the magic of her mouth on yours erased everything that was wrong in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a conversation I had with [OswinTheStrange](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OswinTheStrange/). We were talking about Ketch removing Rowena’s Resurrection Seal and I got inspired to write a wee story.
> 
> Editor: [BewitchedSquirrel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BewitchedSquirrel/)


End file.
